Resolution
by envelopedinred
Summary: Evander Amerius is reaped for the 74th annual Hunger Games and finds it is all too much to bear. But when she catches the attention of the all to familiar brutal oaf from District 2, her life hangs by single thread. When strength is put to the test and all limits are pushed, what will be her resolution? Will it be enough to come out a victor? Cato/OC (Give it a shot!)
1. Chapter 1: The Reaping

_A/N: So this is my first FanFiction, but I've got others in progress at the moment… hopefully you will be able to read them in the future. Yeah, the title's pretty cliché, but tough nuts._

_Evander (Eve) Amerius; has been a long time character of mine, she wasn't always the same character; she's had her twists and turns, but always stayed the same inside. More cliché bullshit._

_Hope you enjoy it, read and review? They mean a whole lot to me! Please and thank you?_

_If you're struggling to get a visual picture of Eve, the story photo is what I envisioned Eve to portray. _

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games *sigh*__, only my ideas. All rights towards the Hunger Games go to the amazing and gifted Suzanne Collins. :c__  
_

_Hope you like it, computer hug!_

_A, xxx (If you're a HUMUNGUS fan of PLL like me, you would know the feeling to have a name starting with A.)_

* * *

Chapter One  
Reaping Day

GO BACK AND READ THE AUTHORS NOTE

I'm running. Running through the woods of the place I call home, branches scrapping across my tan face and long brunette braid swaying in the wind. I'm going as fast as my feet can take me, laughing; enjoying the feeling of the cold breeze against my body and muscles working after a restless night.

Where I come to a halt is a dusty circular patch of earth, surrounded by battered looking tall oaks that would tower over any Capitol building.

Taking my leather satchel off, I swing it to the side it to the side, causing a cloud of dust to surface from the ground. Unlike any other District, District 7 is allowed to roam the woods and forests and do as we please. But there are added concerns such as venomous snakes, bears and wild dogs; and I've had my fair share of those. But there's also food if you know how to find it. My father knows how to survive, and he taught me many of his ways. I like to think of a wise old man, with a scruffy beard and pudge in all the right places; a tell-tale lumberjack. He is kind and loving towards everyone he meets and a household name around District 7.

In my left hand I hold 3 throwing knives; in my right I hold two. Scanning the area, I am in my stance position; waiting to strike. In a split second I'm now facing the opposite tree, with a knife sticking out from where the bulls-eye should be.

* * *

Pulling out the second knife I threw, I examine the oak. Oak is a definite strong and sturdy wood, yet I have managed to completely pulverize it over a long period of time. There is an exceeding dent in where the bulls-eye point should be from my many days out in the sun throwing and beating until every bone in my body screamed for me to stop. Scratches from my sharp blade an deep chips scar the bark from my kicks and punches.

Satisfied with my work, and now aching bones, I make my path to the neighboring river and I swing up my satchel on to my shoulder on the way.

The river flows with clean fresh water throughout the woods, providing for the lumberjacks; It's clean water, the small creatures g swimming inside, and the edible plants attached to the bottom, a reliable source for the scorching long hours.

Waiting beside the stream is my best friend since I was 8. Eden. A smile creeps its way onto my face at the sight of him. Eden and I were definitely not dating, purely platonic. We could date if we wanted too, hell; the whole of district 7 thought we would eventually get married one day. The same brunette hair, tan skin, full lips, arched brows, and the occasional freckle dotting the smooth skin that covers both our button noses. The only difference between us was our eyes; his being a raging ember while mine are a bright emerald green bordered by a thin line of jet black.

I wasn't your average scrawny 17 year old girl, and I have as much muscle as the next, because hauling wood and throwing knives since the age of 4 was where it got you. Mother wasn't necessarily smiles and cheers for the idea, learning how to create snares, define plants and beat a tree trunk to a pulp wasn't exactly the ideal childhood that she pictured for her little girl.

"Hey Eve," says Eden with no particular emotion in his eyes. There is usually the occasional tint of cheekiness or shade of rage, but today? Completely lifeless.

"Hey." I reply flatly sitting beside him.

We sit in comfortable silence for about ten minutes for about 10 minutes according to the sun, and then Eden stands up dusting the dirt off his trousers, holding out s limp hand to me.

We walk down the familiar dusty path lined with tall fallow pines in silence before he speaks up.

"You know you're not going to get chosen," to I reply with a mere nod and he frowns at me. "You're great with a knife and axe, you can make snares, you know how to-"

"Eden let it go," I cut him off as we go our separate ways at the clearing of the woods. I can see him standing where I left him frowning, before he walks into the fog of the opposite direction. What he said was true, and that's probably why our District endures less when it comes to the Hunger Games.

* * *

We throw knives and axes, we learn about foraging, how to survive the wilderness from an extreme young age. We are definitely not like District 1, 2, or 4; the 'Career' Districts… who train their whole lives for the off chance of participating in the Games. Originally, it is illegal to train, but the Capitol usually turns the blind eye towards the Career Districts since they are the Capitol's personal lap dogs.

Unlike, the Career Districts, we don't train for victory, success or the thirst for unshed blood, but for a sense of survival, a second nature. Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

After my little mental rant, I break into a steady jog to clear my mind, enjoying the wing in my hair once again. I run past the dark oak and timber houses, with carved engravings in each door specifying what line of blood and family origin you come from; ours being the longest in the neighborhood.

* * *

The streets are empty; not surprising. Families are trying to spend as much more time with their children before the Reaping… and I'm late.

All too quick, I'm through the front door. Walking up to the island bench, I kiss my mother on the cheek. She doesn't look up from the carrots she is cutting in front of her when she speaks.

"You're late again Evander, how can you always manage to slip away from home so early and come home such a mess? Go clean yourself up." She practically whispers, I can't blame her for being upset… it's Reaping Day and two of her children have a chance of not coming home to her embrace tonight.

"I'm sorry mother, I don't mean to be." I reply, she lifts her gaze to meet mine and smiles weakly, the crinkle on her forehead making an appearance.

My mother, Thalia Amerius, is a beautiful and cunning woman. In some ways she is and older version of myself; long curly brunette hair, same facial features, emerald eyes, and even the way the corners of our mouths quirk up before a smile.

* * *

Our house wasn't the most lavish of the lot, making the narrow hallways a pain to navigate. On my venture down, I peer in to my younger brother's room, Wesley Amerius.

"Wes, it's me." I whisper through the door. I smile to myself when he engulfs me in a hug… and as we separate I look him right in the eye. He was a spitting image of my father and older brother Ether. My brother was named after my father because of some ancient tradition, being the first born male to be named after the father, blah, blah, and blah; almost every time the story was brought up, I would end up completely zoned out of the conversation. Both brothers' shared the same qualities as the rest of the family, brunette curls, tan skin and emerald green eyes.

Thinking about it, my whole family consists of the exact looks; father, mother, Ether, myself and Wesley.

* * *

In District 7, every member lives in the same house with the rest of their family until marriage, and it is their own turn. Air-go the door engraved with your family marking and signs, symbolizing who you are, heritage and tradition. I never really understood our own, a mixture of swirls and patterns, all joining up to reveal a majestic eagles head. But I guess it made sense, seeing that the eagle represents the sun; the whole of District Sevens livelihood.

Looking into the smudged mirror of my cramped room, I don't take my eyes of my reflection.

"Mother!" I exclaim, soon enough her head peers through the door frame raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Would you mind doing my hair for me?" I asked sweetly, she doesn't answer; just gently slides the hair band out of my long brunette curls, in her own silent response. This has become some tradition my mother and I have; she would always comb away the knots and get me ready for the Reaping every year, a sense of closure for the both of us to share in comfortable silence.

"You know Eve, you should be able to do your own hair by the age of 17," she muttered to herself, tweaking the finishing touches in my hair. It was now hanging to one side of my head past my ribs in a fish tail braid; accompanied by a slim forest green ribbon at covering the elastic band.

"Thank you mother," with those words, she was out of the room in a single stride.

* * *

Together we head back the way I just ran, joining other families like ours, walking slowly and largely silently through the sunshine.

It sickens me to the stomach even thinking about the dreadful event. On this torturous day, 24 children will be chosen to partake in a televised battle to the death. And only one comes out. As if starving and undermining the majority of Panem's citizens in every way imaginable wasn't enough, we have to watch children kill each other. Not even aware of the pain and loss they have created.

I separate from my parents at the huge clearing of the towns square, heading towards the seventeen year-old registration tables. The soft prick of the blood sampler is enough to wake me up from the daydream, and my legs start to move almost robotically towards the roped off area for my age group.

Looking back one more time, the rest of my family are secured behind the withered leather ropes, safe.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome," a high pitched voice booms suddenly across the crowd, tearing from my daze. The way she drawls out the words one by one brings shivers down my spine, like she enjoys seeing the lifeless faces before her flinch at her every word.

Our Districts escort; Cotton Deco stands before the entire District, vibrating from the enthusiasm bubbling inside of her, itching to claw itself out. Her outfit is ridiculously absurd once again, consisting of an awful shade of neon orange covering her from head to toe. She seems to just stand there, silently sizing us all up with her beady orange eyes before continuing.

"Happy Hunger Games, and, May the odds be ever in your favour!"

As the tradition ceremony begins, I begin to zone out. Shutting my eyes, concentrating on the soft breeze that flows across my face and in my hair for what seems like the millionth time today.

Until finally Cotton's shrill voice breaks me out of my haze, "Now, the time has come, for us to select, one courageous young man and women, for the honour, of representing District Seven in the 74th annual Hunger Games, as usual?" She gushes, "Ladies first." She states this firmly, which in the complete opposite compared to her habitual enthusiastic charm.

Cotton then begins to hobble across the stage in her bizarre 9 inch heels, stopping in front of the two massive glass bowls ahead of her.

Slipping off her glove, her perfectly manicured nails clink against the cold glass, and her pale fingers linger over the small envelopes almost menacingly, up until she dives her hand in, until slipping out a singular envelope; displaying the piece of paper in the air in anticipation.

Her next words will tear my world apart and build it back together to the extent I wasn't yet aware of.

"Evander Amerius!"


	2. Chapter 2: Adjusting

_A/N: A huge thank you to __**dutchgirl123**__ who was the first reviewer and follower, you have no idea how much that meant to me. I love to hear what people think about my writing. And props to the guest named __**decodame**__, a big confidence boost to continue. _

_This chapter consists of Eve's and the not-so lucky male tributes train ride.. I have written the farewells that long because I wanted to make sure to incorporate how much Eve cherishes and depend on her family._

_Try to find the little Katniss quote I chucked in there,_ I dare you.

_If you give any questions or pointers in the reviews, I promise to reply by PM or in the next chapter. _

_Hope you enjoy!  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, only my characters. _

_A. xxx  
_

* * *

Chapter Two  
Adjusting

For a second it seems as everything around me is crumpling, and my face shows no expression except for utter terror.

I will be dead in the first 10 minutes.

The blood pounding in my ears and mist covering my vision only exceeds when my feet begin to slowly, almost mechanically walk towards the stage where an elated Cotton stands, extending her pale hand.

I don't know how I look to the whole of Panem right now, but honestly? I can't bring myself to give it a second look when my insides are churning with every ounce of emotion struggling to claw itself out.

And when I finally reach the stage, I try to pull a brave face when I encounter the teary eyes of my awaiting family; I'm going to win this for them. I _need_ to win this for them.

I meet the expecting cold hand of Cotton, shaking it slightly before I go to stand before the whole of District Seven. Those two abysmal words ring through my mind like the consistent chirp of a bird, destroying my innards.

"Samson Benedict!"

An eighteen year old boy makes his way to the stage, his face collected, his angular jaw clenched and eyes directly forward. I recognise his face immediately, seeing as I used to attend school with him. Compared to myself, shaking in fear, his features are stern and cool. I can already envision the careers taking a liking to him.

Cotton urges us to shake hands, and I slowly lift my own to Samson's warm shake. He offers a small smile only I would be able decipher, and I nod weakly in response.

With the cool gloved hands of the peacekeepers hastily ushering us into the Justice Building, the doors slam behind us, leaving my old, once peacful life behind me too.

* * *

I can't afford to get upset, to leave the room with puffy eyes and a red nose, it is definitely not an option; and I find running my shaking fingers across the luxurious velvet couch somewhat soothing.

Wesley, Ether and mother are the first to come, and it leaves me wondering where my father is situated. Has he already given up on me? Will he forget about me completely and carry on? No, he can't, he would _never _do that to his only daughter.

I reach out to Wesley and he wraps his little arms around my waist, head resting against my torso. Ether then hesitantly wraps his strong arms around the both of us, circling us in his warmth. My mother then stands behind me, resting her head in the nape of my neck, her cool tears running down my collar bone. We stand in silence for a couple of minutes before I break us apart, fearing that if I didn't in this moment, I would never bring myself to do so.

My arms find themselves around my mother's neck and I copy what she had done before. She smells of home and pine needles, inhaling, I try to concentrate on what's before me, instead of what was once behind me. The fresh air of District 7, the soft meow of Harbour I would wake up to every morning, the soothing chirps of the birds that would wash away any sense of doubt, _home_. I timidly release my arms and whisper soothing words as we once again reluctantly part.

Next is Ether. His warmth once again engulfs me and I feel almost safe, at ease in the embrace of my beloved big brother. _Almost._ Ether's not the most talkative man of the best times, and now I am grateful for that. His silence is what I need the most, to spend my last waking torturous moments engulfed in the warmth of my family.

The tugging at the frayed hem of my dress is what snaps me back to the horrible feeling of reality, Wes stares at me with teary eyes and it takes all my strength not to break down then and there, and I nearly succeed. The tears are flowing down my cheeks by now with a shaking Wes in my arms.

The door bursts open to reveal two immense peacekeepers; ordering my family to leave. We all frantically give each other our last goodbyes and I seem to repeating those three words over and over.

The door closes behind them and I collapse onto the thick carpet, holding one of the plush velvet pillows to my chest as if it would block everything out. My eyes find the floor and I can't help but wonder where this mass would lead me. I know I had told my family I would win for them, but now it feels like I was lying. Lying to my loved ones and to myself; but all I have now is hope.

Someone else enters the room, and when I look up I am relieved to see Eden. Yes, maybe there is nothing romantic between us, but when he opens his arms I don't hesitate to hastily gather myself and launch myself into his inviting embrace. His face is buried in the crook of my neck with his arms tightly wrapped around my waist.

"I am so sorry," I mumble nervously, "for this morning, for everything, I can't Eden, I am so-"

"Hey! It's going to be fine Eve; you'll come home, to Wes, to your family, to _me._" Eden finishes hurriedly grasping the sides of my face in his strong hands, I find myself leaning into his warm touch shutting my eyes. When I open them, I notice his eyes are shut too.

"I can't, I just-" By now I'm breaking down, Eden was always the one to see past every single facade of mine, and that was what I hated and loved. The fact he could read me like an open book but I would always feel so bare. So _vulnerable_, but beyond the fact that I never have to pretend around him.

"Look at me!_ Focus _on me. You're going to get through this, you know how to do this, and you _can_ do this." His face is once again in the crook of my neck heavily breathing in my scent. His mumbles into my skin brings the sense of safeness, and this time I let myself indulge in the feeling of his arms around me and his soft tan skin against mine.

This time, the peacekeeper has to pry Eden off my body, and in the split second before the doors close I find the courage to look him in the eyes for the last time. There are a thousand emotions swimming through his ember eyes and through that split second, silent farewells were shared between our selves.

The second the doors shut I miss his warmth, and his scent of honey and fire wood invade my senses. I miss the feeling of his arms around me. The sense of closure he brings. I miss_ him._

Finally, my father is here, and he seems shocked to see disbelief etched across my features. "You thought I wouldn't come?" He says. My father always seemed to read me like an open book, and that is one of the things I would miss the most. Nodding, I launch myself into his welcoming arms, silently sobbing and thanking his broad shoulders for a perfect head barrier.

"Eve," he sighs, breaking the contacts and holding me at arm's length at the shoulders. "Here," he sighs, clasping both my hands in his he carefully opens my fragile hand between his callused lumberjack hands, so gently; it seems he's afraid he might break it. "A token, " he says again. "From our District, this will be yours." Father states firmly.

Cautiously, I unwrap the carefully folded tissue paper, and what unveils itself causes a small gasp to escape my lips.

"Father," I sigh, "are you sure?" In response, he nods and I find myself smiling for what seems like the first time in years, the feeling almost foreign to me.

In the palm of my hand rests a small intricately dark wood necklace. The band is made out of soft black leather and I can't help rubbing my fingers along the pattern carefully carved across the face of the emblem, the necklace face reveals an exact replica of the carving etched on our front door.

Receiving _your necklace_ is an enormous gift in our District, to which can only be given to you by your parents. The necklace resembles a sign of maturity and symbolizes the same qualities as your door. You will only obtain the respect of an adult and be considered mature until your necklace is hanging upon your neck in District Seven.

Father then pulls me in for another bear hug until he kisses my forehead, before whispering, "I love you Eve, come home to us, please."

As if almost on cue, the doors open to expose two peacekeepers, but only this time they take me with them too.

* * *

Initially, I am astonished at the remarkable speed of the Capitol constructed train and as I look out the window my hand subconsciously traces patterns across the emblem of my necklace.

Samson sits only meters away from me, eyes focused on the distant blurs of District Seven getting further and further away by the second through the neighboring window. Before my mind could drift off to thinking about the broken hearts of my family, the sleek cart door opposite the one we entered through screeched open.

Blight Lightwood and Johanna Mason.

Anyone around District Seven could tell you about the doubtful duo. I have heard stories about Johanna; everybody has heard _the _story about Johanna. She is our most famous and last living female Victor from District Seven and at the start of her games she portrayed herself as the cowardly chump that no one would give a second look until there were only a few contestants left; pretty clever actually, because she was one of the youngest tributes to outsmart the whole of Panem. When in reality she is a sly and cunning young woman with a _wicked ability to murder._

Blight, her mentoring partner was said to be more of a follower that a leader, I can't exactly recall how he won his games but from his stocky build and broad shoulders, I can tell it had something to do with brute strength.

"Quite extravagant, isn't it?" Johanna mumbles almost sounding like she was bored. Unlike Johanna who stopped walking to pick at up a salty looking pastry embedded in the incredible food display, Blight continued walking, smiling warmly at the both of us before situating himself in the seat beside the opposite of Samson. I make my way over to the honey coloured arm chair and sit beside Samson silently.

"So…" Samson starts, taking a side glance at me before continuing, "Where do we start?"

"Eagar aren't we?" Johanna says wickedly, and the sly smirk that rests upon her features sends shivers down my spine. This lady really does scare me. "I like you."

"First," Blight sighs, "You need sponsors. Sponsors will unfortunately mean life or death for you. Before you even get in to the Arena, Johanna, myself and your stylists need to make you as alluring as possible, playing to the Capitols expectations." He finishes, Johanna's gaze lingering on Samson.

"The pretty ones, the brutal ones," Johanna drags out, legs sprawled over the arm rest of the chair and head leaned, moving her head to the side as she lists off the categories. The words roll off her lounge almost sarcastically and it once again brings the shivers.

"We need to know your skills." Blight concludes firmly, from seeing him in action, he looks more of the leader compared to Johanna the obnoxious bored follower.

"I'm a lumberjack, having the basic knife and axe skills as well as identifying a few plants." Says Samson almost nervously.

"You're definitely mine." Commanded Johanna, with a hint of mischief gliding through her eyes.

My stomach churns uneasily and I feel uncomfortable under Johanna's hard stare, I could never think of killing another person. What about their families? What if they had a little Wes at home waiting for them too? Like me?

"I can throw knifes and axes pretty good, as well as foraging." I mumble, focusing on my fidgeting hands.

"Ugh, Blight we've got another pixie on our hands." Johanna says distastefully, she shifts uncomfortably so that her back was now facing us stretching in the process and her movements remind me of cat-like abilities.

Her snide comment got a cold glare to the back of her head from me, to which I'm sure I heard Samson chuckled towards.

"Okay, Samson? You're going to be confident, strong and willing. The Capitol will eat it up and you'll be a potential choice for the careers." Blight's gaze shifted from Samson to me and I felt almost uneasy. "You're going to be-"he stutters for a moment before he continues, "I'm not sure, don't worry, they'll be something, there's always something."

* * *

The drawers are filled with fine clothes and a button for almost everything. Cotton tells me to do anything I please, as long as I'm washed and dressed for supper time.

A small curse escapes my lips when I open the transparent shower door, we don't have a shower at home, only a small bathtub that only produces hot water on a once-off lucky day. Stuck to the tiled wall is what looks like a sheer white panel laced with hundreds of minor buttons.

Taking a shower was a pain, and trying to navigate the frustrating buttons were even worse. I started off with being blasted by searing hot water blinding me from every direction. But I ended up with a combination of what smelled like pine needles and vanilla. It reminded me of mother and almost brought tears to my eyes.

_Don't cry, _I scolded myself, _you need to be strong. _

As if on cue, Cotton comes to collect me for supper. As she directs us through the slender hallways, the train never ceases to amaze me. I follow her through yet another compartment into a dining room with polished floors and a huge dark wash timber rectangular table situated in the center of the room. Blight, Johanna and Samson sit waiting for us, the chair next to Samson empty. Dinner comes in courses; starting with a cheese and fruit platter, to a green salad, then a creamy pumpkin soup, then smoked fish and spiced veggies, to a roast duckling with apple sauce oozing from the center, then finishing with a self-saucing chocolate cake.

Throughout the meal with Johanna's witty remarks and Blight's comforting words; Cotton kept on reminding Samson of what _a big, big day! _It was tomorrow.

* * *

Johanna, Blight, Samson and I sit closely on one of the large L-shaped luxurious couches with Cotton perched in her usual fancy composure nearby. The entire outer wall is covered in a massive television. Who can afford these luxuries? Oh, that's right; the undeniable and ridiculously Capitol.

The technology then flashes to life revealing a very eager and bright Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman. How they can smile so easily from what an awful event escapes me, but what really gets under my skin is the audacity the Capitol citizens to _celebrate _the televised death of 23 children.

One by one, the 12 annual Reaping's of Panem stagger by slowly, starting with District one, with a dangerously beautiful blonde with pray mantis legs saunters to the stage, flashing an overly whitened toothed smile, and I learn her name is _Glimmer._ Glimmer? Really? What possess a parent to name their child after minuscule sparkles, with the exception she's from District 1, what could you expect? The boy is next, much less obvious but still dripping silent confidence with a slight smirk and wave to the roaring crowd before they are both guided into the building.

How can they act so calm? So normal? As if getting reaped is what they were exactly expecting and waiting for.

Next to District 2, and I noticeably tense; the girl, _Clove, _scares the living soul out of me. Her stare is intense, and the evident eagerness radiating off her pale skin is unnerving. The boy who is actually reaped doesn't even need to move an inch before an eighteen year old stocky guy volunteers to replace him and strides himself to the stage, like it's his birth right.

He's so self-assured, and confident, but with an exact right to be. This boy is unmistakably huge, tall with his muscles pulsing beneath his skin tight white dress shirt and then he proudly states his name.

_Cato. _

His eyes flash towards the screen as a swallow the evident lump in my throat. His eyes are of an icy blue, and it's like looking into pure darkness. Not one visible emotion within his eyes, deadly cold with no remorse and my breathing noticeably falters.

He is a career; raised to be ruthless killer, born for this exact purpose.

The rest of the Reaping's passes by slowly until District 12. A Fragile flaxen haired 12 year-old girl wobbles towards the stage shaking in fear until a girl my age bounds forward to volunteer for what I'm guessing is her younger sister. Determination is evident in her eyes and her head is held high, and I feel a small pang of jealousy rise in my chest.

Why couldn't I be brave like that? She is so brave, yet so firm and I have an indescribable sense of respect for this mysterious girl.

* * *

I stare at the timber paneled roof above this luxurious bed in the darkness rubbing circles into my necklace; and I finally let the walls bound down, letting the tears stream down my face; taking every ounce of hope I once had with it.

Because I am finally alone, no one to hide from, no one to put an _act _on for, and nobody I have to pretend for, so I cry; into the darkness of the sad horror that is reality.

* * *

Let me know what you think in the reviews? xxx


	3. Chapter 3: The Capitol

_A/N: Hello again guys, I've been putting off this chapter because I've been reading instead of writing these last couple of weeks (or months -.-); and I have maybe recently conjured up a slight case of writers block. I'm so sorry for the huge delay! :c_

_This chapter is kind of filling, featuring the doubtful duo's strategizing, their arrive at the Capitol and the Tributes Parade. This chapter may be a bit long, but I know I love long chapters, so don't kill me. phew _

_Bear with me, please review? I need them to continue.  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games._

_A. xxx_

* * *

Chapter Three  
The Capitol

The roof looks different in the complete darkness, it looks nothing like the dark timber I would wake up too every morning in my bedroom, compared to the sheer, coldness of the leather lined train rooftop.

Carefully I prop myself up on my elbows, taking the difference in. Slowly memory resurfaces in my brain as I pull the blankets off my sweaty body; The Reaping, Cotton's shrill voice and the dark emotionless eyes of the boy that haunted my dreams.

Slowly I wrap myself into a little ball descending beneath the white duvet once again as a silent tear rolls down my cheek. This is it, I can't handle this at all; who was I kidding? There is no way I'll be able to get through this horror sane.

What pulls me back from the dark pit I was about to sink into was the incessant knocking against my door, I guess whoever was trying to capture my attention gave up because the non-stop knocking ceased; Instead my door flung open to reveal the new and improved Cotton, unlike yesterday with her vivid fluorescent orange ensemble, today she is dressed in all white, literally; new wig and all.

"Evander darling, are you awake yet?" Cotton murmured, to which I replied with a faint groan, signalling my answer. Cotton responded with a slight tsk as her preposterous heels clanked against the oak flooring.

"Blight wishes to see you prior, be dressed and washed before he visits, I will collect you after for breakfast; remember? Today is a _big, big day_!" she shrilled more so to herself than to me before strutting out the door.

* * *

A soft tap on my door breaks me from my small marvel at the luxury sweetheart neckline white sundress with a tight fit around the waist then flaring into a mass of white that shows off my curves; _Capitol women._ Complimented by a pair of flat strappy light brown sandals that I can't identify; my hair flowing in natural curls past my ribs.

"Come in,"

"Well don't you look beautif-" Blight starts but I cut him off with a quiet scoff turning towards him. "Now, there is no need for modesty in these games," he smirks.

"Did you need something?"

"We need to discuss tactics." He informed sitting down on the deluxe king-sized bed. Reluctantly, I made my way over and sat beside him.

"Blight… I don't think I can do this…" my words come out in barely a whisper, invoking all of my vulnerability into the open before my mentor.

"Hey," he soothes; "Don't say that about yourself, from what's hanging around your neck I'd say that's an exaggeration." Subconsciously my hand moves the caress the necklace; tracing small patterns in the emblem as I tuck a stray piece of unruly hair behind my ear self-consciously. My gaze slowly moves to meet his kind ember eyes and I manage to give him a weak smile in response.

"Blig-"

"No. Stop, Eve; number one? Don't exploit your weaknesses to your opponents; they'll find a way to play it against you. Number two? All we need is a hook and we're set. "

"A hook?" I asked, completely lost with all the new information.

"The thing about the Capitol, Eve- they don't want a hook, they _need_ it Evander. The Games aren't life or death with them; it's a television show for their disgusting entertainment. They will bet on who will die and who will survive, but the majority bet with their hearts. Capitol people will sponsor tributes that touch them and make them want more; all they want is a show." But before I could reply, Blight started again. "A story, something they can hold onto and brag to their friends about, a story, an embodiment…" He trailed off lifting a strand of my hair and twisting my head from side to side trying to get an apparent better angle.

"All they want is a story… a figure…" I trailed off, trying to comprehend his words, and I can see the gears in his mind grinding and coming to life.

"That's it Eve! A story! That's how we'll present you, an embodiment of a legend. All you need to do is play your part in the arena and I'll get the sponsors. We can do this Eve."

"But… what about Samson?" I ask weakly, looking down to the plush carpet beneath my toes.

"Johanna's with him,"

"Oh," I reply, I guess she did get her pick.

"Samson's stronger, more able. Don't waste your time on me Blight; you know I'll be done in the first minute, why aren't you concentrating on him instead of me?" I ask him, standing from my position sitting on the end of my bed, and walking towards my dresser looking in the mirror.

"Hey," he soothes, getting up from his spot as well, and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Some may, but Johanna and I don't pick favorites," he admitted, to which I scoff.

"Really," he insists, "she might come off a bit shallow, but you have to understand we've been doing this for years; and niceness isn't really one of her _many,_ traits," he smirks at me from the mirror, I laugh in response.

He straightens and moves to the door, fiddling with his platinum cuff links, "Dinner is in 20 minutes, make sure you're ready.

* * *

It isn't the size of the Capitol that amazes me, but the riot of colours and screaming we get from the huge crowd before the launching pad we stand on.

Blight stands walks beside me, with his hand on the small of my back, leading me through the mass of ostentatious Capitol citizens and photographers pushing to get a glance of this year's District 7 tributes.

Of course Cotton takes advantage of the screaming, waving her manicured hands in the air and screaming into the crowd.

Johanna only scowls at the crowd, and drapes her lengthy arm around Samson's shoulder.

I smile and wave back at the crowd of people, stopping for photographs and questions, I don't scowl at them like Samson or Johanna or dismiss them like most would; but the shower of roses and screams for my name only get louder and louder with every step towards the sleek black car that will lead me to my death.

* * *

Hours.

Hours of rubbing, plucking, tweezing, waxing, shaving, blowing and moisturizing. I feel completely raw and rubbed from the entire amount of product they've moisturised and injected into my skin.

Whispering and jumping around me, are my trio of overly excited preparation team; Tempest, Belle and Maken, all dressed in flamboyant neon wigs and embezzled coulored skin.

They finally deem me presentable and make me wait in a spacious steel room, and leave me for Zealand. Only moments later, the thick door creaked open to reveal a tall dark skinned man dressed in all black. Apart from the orange quiff that rests on his head, the orange rings that line his ears from top to bottom, and the thin line of orange eyeliner, he looks like a completely normal citizen.

"Hello, sweetheart." He speaks in a thick, yet strangely comforting British accent and takes my hands in his. "I'm your personal stylist, Zealand."

"Evander." I whisper, barely audible.

"Close your eyes," He says. My eyes go as wide as saucers and yank my hands away from his.

"Don't fret love; I just want to surprise you." He smirks, nodding towards a long sheer silver garment bag hanging against the wall.

Reluctantly, I step of the bench I was previously sitting on, and meet the cool steel with my ice cold feet; I then shut my eyes and release the warm robe that was hugging my body. The cold air hits my naked body fast and the hairs on the back of my neck raise; but in almost an instant I feel a sheer fabric drape my body to the floor. Slowly, Zealand guides me somewhere unknown before he speaks.

"Open" and I do as I say.

The girl in the mirror isn't me, she can't be.

She is dressed in an extraordinary gown that seems to flow around her slim bodice like the wind itself, and with the slightest of movement, it flows around her body; made of a sheer fabric, fitted around her body, but what surprise's her the most is the completely bare back, shown by the dip of the material resting just below to small of her back and decent amount of cleavage shown on the strapless sweetheart neckline. Starting from a musky orange at the top, and gradually ombreing down to a light shade of brown, resembling intricate flakes of tree bark. But it's the hair and makeup that shocks me the most, my hair being a loose braided bun at the back of my head framing my angular face, and the sweet and neutral makeup that brings out my intent emerald eyes, framed by long luscious eyelashes that resemble a wing and contoured tan skin even more.

Zealand genuinely smiles, amused by my stricken features and laughs when I turn to him amazed.

"Who am I meant to be?"

"You're The Great Eagle Thea, queen of the skies."

* * *

Blight greats me with a warm embrace, "You look absolutely_ beautiful_." He draws out the words and it makes me blush, rewarding him with a slap on the arm by Johanna.

"Got to hand it to you, you look gorgeous." She speaks proudly, and the corners of my mouth tug up before she leaves to go hassle someone else.

Short moments pass, and Samson comes over to greet us; dressed in the same fabric as the brown bark of my dress and the same orange cufflinks. His stylist fusses over him a little more, which Blight and Johanna then teases him about; rewarded by a glare from Samson. The bare back of my dress lets the cold air dance alone my spine and it feels like someone's watching me, but I shake it off and blame the stony air instead of _his _icy eyes.

Finally it's time for us to board our carriages, and Zealand and Samson's stylist fuss around the dark wood carriage, draping tiny fairy lights here and there.

"They will flow out," Zealand instructs, "Like your dress." Before we're given the final go ahead, Zealand hands me a small yellow button that fits into my bracelet.

"What is this?" I ask, lost.

"Press it when the time feels right." He instructs once again, speaking lowly.

"But what is it?"

"You'll see."

Slowly, our chariot comes to life, and the horses feet clapping against the steel floor; soon they pick up their pace and we emerge into the promenade of the tributes parade, a gasp arises from my throat and I'm astonished at the thousands of people littering the stands; all screaming and waving their hands frantic.

They are all screaming for us, and I smile and wave being showered by blurs of orange and brown roses. Blame the adrenaline, or the fact that I felt like I was floating, but it felt like the right moment. Pushing the small yellow button, the small sweet fairy lights exploded to reveal small holograms of screeching birds flying and screeching everywhere, echoing from the steel walls. But all of a sudden, my back wasn't bare anymore; two majestic fallow wings sprouted out of the hem of my dress and started to flow with the wind like my now free brunette hair. I was now _Thea_, _queen_ of the skies, and I look up to see my amazed eyes on the huge monitors looking at my wings.

If it was even possible, the crowds started to scream and shriek even louder and start to chant Samson and my self's name, all sorts of jewellery and flowers raining down on us now, as we hurdle down the road until we reach the tribute tower, citizens still chanting our names and the incessant screech of the small birds, but in an instant; the crowd goes silent.

I look up to the monitors not to see my wings any more, but Districts Twelve. The mysterious girl I so fondly admire for her bravery was on fire, holding hands, gliding as Samson and I once did. The crowd again roars to life, screaming and screeching their names.

"Holy…" Samson murmurs beside me.

"Beautiful," I whisper.

His hand finds mine, and he squeezes it reassuringly, making a silent truce. I will not kill him and he will not kill me, even though we share this strong bond, in a few days we will be fighting to the death and one of us will die.

Like every year, President Snows speech drones on, and I feel myself slowly spacing out, but the icy feeling I had previously returns to my bare back. I look to Samson, but he is glaring at someone else, his jaw clenched. I place my hand gently on his arm, breaking him from his reverie; he smiles down on me, but it's gone before I can register it.

"2's staring." He spits with clenches teeth.

Slowly I turn around, and my emerald eyes meet the icy gaze of the male District 2 tribute. He's smirking, but his eyes aren't on mine anymore, they are slowly raking over my body shamelessly, well aware of my knowing. My hands cover my body self-consciously and his smirk only grows. But I'm not the person to respond, so I turn back around clinging to Samson's hand.

Once again, I look over my shoulder but the smirk that once graced his features was replaced by a stiff glare, his jaw clenched and his eyes set of Samson and I's intertwined fingers, for a moment I see something flash in his eyes, but it vanished as soon as it came.

The chariots move towards the opening of the arch, to the Training Center.

"Thank you," I breathe, grasping his hand tighter.

"Any time Eve," he whispers into my ear.

Before I could reply, Samson's stylist Cora gushes over to us with a huge smile plastered on her face, "That was perfect!" She screams as we step of the chariot.

Blight greets me with a kiss on the cheek, which makes me blush.

"If it wasn't for that bloody District 12, we would've finally got it this year, but n-"She rambles to herself.

"But they will definitely be remembered Cora, the King and Queen of the skies, sponsors will love it." Zealand speaks softly placing his large hand onto Cora's bare shoulder.

"But-" Samson starts, "2 has a certain fixation with Eve's body." He spits like it was venom.

"So I wasn't the only one…" Johanna speaks quietly, not like her usual confident attitude. Blight offers her a small smile and placed his hand one her shoulder, but she shakes it off and looks him straight in the eye and got straight in his face.

"She _won't_ end up like Gracen."


End file.
